To Be Ghostly
by Unlucky Alis
Summary: Day One: Fangs & Shatter - Danny thought getting fangs was cool. He thought his sister and friends would agree, but apparently he doesn't know them as well as he thought. He's not sure what he knows anymore. A collection of oneshots for Ectober Week 2019.


**Ectober Week 2019 – Day One – Fangs & Shatter**

...

**A/N: **Hi everyone! I've decided to try Ectober Week this year, hosted by the wonderful Lexx, Vic, and Nick! So the Survivalists will be on the back burner this week, but I'll get right back to it once Ectober is done. Enjoy!

...

Danny ran his tongue over his teeth. Probing his gums, he felt the little slit above his canines. He leaned toward the mirror, stuck his bottom jaw out, and peeled down his lip. He could barely see the small gap, down where his gums and lip met.

Pushing himself up on the counter, he pressed so close to the mirror his nose brushed the glass. For a second, Danny just stared. Then, he stretched his mouth wide and _snarled_, baring his fangs.

A ghostly growl exploded from his throat. He gnashed his teeth and flashed his toxic green eyes, making the fiercest expression he could think of.

The bathroom door slammed open.

Danny whipped around to face the intruder, or he tried to. The heel of his palm slipped off the edge of the counter and he tumbled, smacking his chin on rim of the sink on his way down.

"Jazz," Danny whined, cupping his mouth and glaring up at his sister. "What the hell was that for? I could have been going to the bathroom!"

"You're here," Jazz said. Her hand slipped down the door frame and she hugged herself. "Why are you here?"

"Look, look, it's so cool!" Danny clambered to his feet and leaned up into Jazz's face. He bared his teeth again and pointed to his canines.

"Watch!" he said. He flexed a muscle in his jaw, one that hadn't existed a few weeks ago, and sharp, crooked fangs slipped over his canines. It pinched a little but didn't really hurt. Wiggling his eyebrows, he flexed the new muscle again and the fangs retracted. He kept doing it.

Fangs, no fangs. Fangs, no fangs. In and out. Just the top. Now the bottom. Now both.

"I have _fangs_." Danny beamed, showing off his new shiny teeth. He couldn't really close his mouth all the way, because of how the bottom fangs knocked against his top teeth. Hopefully his body would just fix that on its own as they finished growing in.

"You're... bleeding," Jazz said.

Danny blinked. That wasn't the response he expected. It took him a moment to process it, his smile dropping, and he asked, "What?"

"Your lip is bleeding," Jazz clarified. Poking Danny's cheek, she turned his head toward the mirror.

His lip was, indeed, bleeding. A neat slice beneath one of his upper fangs. He must have accidentally bit it when he hit the sink.

"Oh," Danny said. He wiped the ectoplasm trickling down his chin on the back of his hand and poked the cut. He didn't feel it when it happened, but now it stung a little. "Whoops. Didn't even notice."

In the mirror, he caught Jazz's grimace.

"Just be careful, okay?" she said.

"Why?" he asked. He was plenty careful about a lot of things: his powers, his identity, potential injuries. The risk of getting captured and dissected by his own parents. The list went on, and Jazz already knew that.

"Just..." Her frown deepened until she got that little crease between her eyebrows, the one that made her whole face look pinched.

Danny looked away from her reflection, back toward his fangs. Sticking out his jaw again, he clenched his teeth and giggled. It looked a bit silly, like he had tusks instead of fangs, but it was more comfortable to close his mouth this way. His teeth gave a satisfying click as he snapped his jaw shut, over and over.

"Just don't become too ghostly, okay?" Jazz said. She touched Danny's shoulder.

"Well, that's stupid." Danny rolled his eyes. "I'm already a halfa. But sure, whatever you say."

He didn't look at her as she walked away.

She glanced over her shoulder the whole way until she was out of sight.

...

Danny dragged Tucker and Sam into the boys' locker room as soon as he got to school, just before first period.

He thought they, or at least Sam, would protest more about their choice location—it was the first place he could think of. Instead they kept exchanging glances. Tucker's hand hovered over his pocket and Sam fiddled with a silver tube of lipstick.

Weird. Danny thought all her lipstick came in the same black and grey tubes. Maybe this was a new colour.

"Watch this," Danny said. He turned around, covered his mouth, and let out his fangs. Then spun around and threw his arms out. "Ta-da!"

Danny was practically vibrating, his gaze jumping back and forth between his two best friends, and bounced on his toes. Jazz's reaction had been a little disappointing, but Sam and Tucker would totally get it. He had _fangs_, how cool was that?

Apparently not cool at all.

"Dude!" Tucker lurched forward and slapped a hand over Danny's mouth, covering his fangs, while Sam pulled Danny's arms down. They shoved him into a shower stall, piled in after him, and slammed the door. Sam slid the lock shut and waved the boys back until all three of them were pressed against the wall.

Danny scowled at them and quirked an eyebrow. He opened his mouth, his fangs brushing the skin of Tucker's palm. Tucker flinched, earning a smack from Sam, and hissed, "Shush!" at Danny.

A second later, Danny heard the voices.

"Do you think... do you think he'll be back again today?" That sounded like Kwan. There must have been an early morning football practice.

"I don't know, man." Dash, definitely Dash. His voice wavered, though. Danny couldn't remember ever hearing him like that. The only time Dash's voice shook was with anger, right before pummelling Danny into the ground. Right now he sounded afraid.

"So what if he is?" That was Dale. Danny didn't like Dale. He _really_ didn't like Dale. That guy cornered Danny in the parking lot more times than Dash ever did, and at least Dash stopped beating Danny up once they became seniors.

But Dale didn't.

Danny stood up on his toes, straining to see over the shower door. He could, but only enough to see the tops of the jocks' heads. His bare feet lifted off the tiles as he rose up. Sam grabbed his shoulders and yanked him back down. Danny turned a sharp glare on her.

He just wanted to see, what was wrong with that? They spied on the A-listers all the time. Usually to laugh at them, but still.

Sam shook her head. Not at Danny, but at Tucker, who was pulling something out of his pocket.

Danny's focused jumped to Tucker's hand. He saw a flash of something blue before Tucker shoved it back in his pocket. Danny lifted his gaze to Tucker's face.

Tucker shrugged and gave him a shaky smile.

Whatever.

Danny walked right through Sam and Tucker, ignoring the way they shivered violently, their whole bodies jerking and their eyes going wide. He stuck his head through the door, about to ask the football team what the hell they were talking about, but was met with an empty room.

Their equipment bags sat on the far bench. No practice, then. They were just dropping off their stuff for later.

Staring at the bags, Danny kind of wanted to mess with them. Sure, Dash hadn't bullied him since junior year, but Danny was still pretty peeved about all the years of gut punches and locker time before that. He deserved a little revenge.

The rest of his body passed through the door and he approached Dale's bag first. How could he prank it without opening it? He knew how badly those bags reeked. Dale and Dash stuffed him in one before the homecoming game last year. He could do without smelling the inside of a football bag ever again.

The shower stall door slammed open and Sam and Tucker darted out.

"Danny, you need to go," Sam said.

"Yeah, I know, the bell's about to ring. But come _on_, when are we going to have such a golden opportunity again?" Danny asked. Sam didn't budge, so he looked to Tucker. "You've got to agree with me, right, Tuck?"

"Um, Tetslaff gets pretty pisssed if anyone messes with the football players, I don't know," Tucker said.

Danny groaned. Tucker was right, why did he have to be right? Valerie was the last person to mess with the team. She dosed Dash's water with a mild ghost tranquilizer, which has a very euphoric effect on humans. When Tetslaff found out, she made the entire class run suicide drills all class, back and forth across the gym floor.

Danny did okay, thanks to his extra stamina, but Tucker nearly collapsed halfway through the class, and even Sam was ready to quit.

"Fine," he relented with a dejected sigh

"Good, now let's get you o—" The sound of footsteps cut Sam off. She tried to usher Danny back toward the showers, but it was too late.

Dash rounded the corner and froze when his eyes settled on Danny.

"Uh, F-fenturd, you're here." Dash paled and swallowed thickly. "Forget I said anything, okay? Sorry."

He turned around and bolted out of the locker room.

"Geez, you'd think he'd seen a ghost or something." Danny cracked a grin, looking to Sam for her customary groan, and Tucker for his stifled chuckles.

They stayed silent.

…

Danny stood in his doorway and frowned. Someone had been in his room, although he couldn't explain how he knew. It was just a feeling. The kind of feeling you get when you haven't been home for a while, and you _know_ someone was there while you were gone but can't see the evidence.

He leaned back and shouted down the hall, "Hey, Jazz! Were you in my room?"

No answer.

"Jazz!"

Still nothing.

"Rude," Danny muttered. He trudged forward and flopped onto his bed, frowning when it made a crinkling noise. Shimmying over to the edge, he lifted the comforter. The mattress was wrapped in plastic.

Tucker's little sister had a plastic wrapped mattress, because of her allergies. Danny picked at the plastic, stabbing it with his nail and scratching it.

His mom got him tested for allergies a few weeks ago, after he got a bad rash while cleaning out the shed. He knew it was from some old anti-ghost serum he spilled on his shirt, but there's no way he'd tell his mom that. As far as he knew, they hadn't gotten the results yet. She was probably just being cautious.

He rolled onto his back, sat up, and looked around. There was something else giving him the weird feeling. He scanned the shelf above his desk, which was full of astronomy textbooks and a few NASA manuals—some of which he printed off and stapled together himself.

Something was missing. Between a book on Einstein's theoretical physics and an anthology of essays, there was a gap. A model of the Opportunity Rover was supposed to be there.

Danny leapt off his bed and floated up to the shelf. Sometimes his parents moved his stuff around when they dusted and forgot to put things back exactly where they were supposed to go. But the shelf was coated in dust, with a clean, sharply defined circle where the model used to sit.

Spinning his head around, he scrutinized the bookcase beside his bed. His model solar system was gone.

Now that he knew what to look for, he could see a bunch of his models were missing. The Challenger rocket, the Curiosity rover, and the Apollo lunar module. All gone.

Danny tore through his room looking for them. He flung his dresser drawers open, digging through his clothes and throwing them across the floor. Under his bed, he yanked out the plastic bins, ripped their lids off, and dumped their contents out.

Lego sets, old Gameboys, and childhood toys scattered everywhere. He couldn't find the models.

"Where are they? Where are they!" Danny crawled frantically across the floor, shoving everything aside, and wrenched his closet door off its hinges. It crashed to the ground behind him.

There, at the back of the closet, hidden behind his shirts and sweaters, was a stack of boxes labelled _Danny — space models_ _— storage_.

Prying the box open, he found all the models. He stared at them, confused. Someone had put them away. Someone had taken his models, moved them, and hidden them away. The edges of the box crumpled in his grip. They weren't supposed to be away, they belonged exactly where Danny had put them, _they weren't supposed to be away_.

His vision went black and the temperature dropped.

When it cleared, the box was nothing but ashes; the models were untouched. He wiped his hands on his pants, picked up the models, and carefully put each one back where it belonged. It took him a good ten minutes to make sure they were exactly where they were supposed to be. The lines in the dust helped.

Danny had just finished setting the Opportunity rover in place when he heard the front door open. He grinned. Finally, they were home.

He bolted from his room and leaned over the balcony railing. Jack came in first, in a jumpsuit as always, but it was all black instead of orange. Maddie, walking in after him, wore a modest black dress. Coming in last, Jazz wore black slacks and a dress shirt.

Their eyes were red and their mood somber.

Pressing his cheek to the bannister, Danny scowled in disappointment. They had gone out without him and didn't even tell him they were leaving. That wasn't very nice. He sighed, loudly.

Jazz's head jerked up. She looked started.

Danny waved, giggled, and darted back into his room. He sat down behind his door, bending his knees to his chest and hugging his shins. He heard Jazz whisper something to their parents, and her soft footsteps as she started up the stairs. She always wore flats in the house, a decision she made after stepping in puddles of ectoplasm one too many times.

Danny wiggled his bare toes, tapping his feet on the hardwood floor and leaving muddy prints. His parents wouldn't like that. Oh, well.

"Danny?" Jazz softly called.

It was like playing hide and seek. His spot wasn't very good, but maybe the mess all around his room would distract Jazz. She wasn't a fan of big messes.

"Danny, please." Jazz's voice cracked.

Danny giggled, clapping his hands over his mouth. The door creaked as Jazz slowly pulled it back. Danny stared up at her, eyes glowing with mirth.

"You found me," he said in a sing-song voice.

"Danny, you can't be here," Jazz said.

"Why not? Why can't I?" Danny uncurled. He grabbed the doorknob, laying his hand over Jazz's. She flinched when his ragged nails dug into her skin. "It's my room, Jazz."

"I... I know it's your room," Jazz said. She grabbed her wrist and yanked her hand away, stumbling back. She tripped on one of the plastic bins and fell hard, landing on a pile of Legos. Biting down a gasp of pain, she propped herself up on her eblow and focused on Danny.

"Why can't I be here?" Danny asked. He pulled himself up and stomped forward. This was his room. This was his house. He was allowed to be here, he was _supposed_ to be here.

"Mom and Dad—" Jazz started.

"Were you in my room?"

"Danny, please, don't shout, they'll—"

"Get out of my room."

"Please—"

"Get out of my room! Get out of my room, get out of my room, _get out of my room!_" Danny roared. He grabbed Jazz's arm and threw her out the door. She crashed into the railing, the posts cracking under the impact.

"Danny," Jazz pleaded, crawling forward.

The door slammed shut in her face, hard enough to crack the frame. Danny ignored Jazz's yelp of pain. He needed to get out of here, clear his head, take a flight. Turning toward the window, he took off into the sky.

...

Danny's room was bare when he returned. The shelves were empty, his bed was stripped, and there was nothing in his dresser. Carefully packed boxes filled the closet.

This was all wrong. He felt violated.

"_Who did this?_" Danny howled, his voice echoing through the house. It filled the air like static, crackling down the halls.

Ectoplasm arced up and down his arms. It swirled in his eyes, sparked around his head, dripped down his body and splattered against the floor.

He let out a wordless scream.

A piercing alarm shrieked, loud enough to echo down the street, and snapped Danny out of his rage. That was the Fenton Proximity Alarm. It only went off when an ecto-entity level five or higher released a power surge within a three-block radius.

The volume of the alarm signalled the power of the ghost.

Right now, it was deafening. Danny couldn't even hear his own lingering shout of fury. The only time he heard it this loud was when Pariah Dark invaded.

He didn't want to leave. He wanted to stay and find out who had done this to him, who had desecrated his place, assaulted his vary being with such vandalism, but he couldn't let a ghost that powerful run free.

He was gone before Maddie and Jack burst into his bedroom, ecto-blasters in hand.

...

It was nearly four in the morning. Danny didn't find the ghost. It nagged at him. His whole job was to find the ghost, fend it off, and save the day. How could he keep Amity safe if he couldn't even find the ghost? It could be anywhere, wreaking havoc. The worst part was that his ghost sense didn't even react. He couldn't think of any ghost capable of hiding from his ghost sense.

Not even Pariah Dark.

Danny sat in the kitchen, at the dining table. He picked at the dirt on his feet. They always seemed to be dirty lately, and no matter how much he washed them, it wouldn't come off. It was getting annoying.

He rubbed his eyes and pushed his hair back. With how damp it was, it kept sticking to his forehead and tickling his eyelashes. He thumped his head on the table, again, and again, and again.

Overhead, something creaked.

Danny froze with his head against the table. Slowly, he rose and turned his face toward the noise. It came from his parent's room. The creaking moved toward the stairs. He knew, without seeing, that it was his dad.

Jack's immense, musclebound girth meant he weighed a considerable amount. Over the years, he'd worn various paths around the house. From the door, to the couch, to the kitchen, down to the lab, and up to the master bedroom. The floorboards were weakest there and creaked for everyone, but it was always loudest when Jack tromped over them. Even when he was trying to be quiet.

A glow in the corner of Danny's eye caught his attention. He whipped around to face it, ready to attack, ectoplasm already swirling in his palm.

It was just his reflection in the toaster. Bruised eyes, bloody nose, split lip. Nothing unusual.

He wiped the blood off on his knuckles. Its soft green glow contrasted Danny's own silvery aura. Mesmerized, he stared at the smear of ectoplasm. His fangs slid out—whether it was a conscious act or not, he couldn't say—and he stuck out his tongue.

The forked end darted over the ectoplasm. He licked it up and smacked his lips.

A pained gasp sounded to his left.

Danny's gaze snapped over to the source.

His dad stood in the doorway, clutching a Jack-o-nine-tails in one hand, and a bazooka in the other.

"I'm giving you one chance to get out," he said, thrusting the nine-tails forward.

Danny pulled his tongue back in. "What?"

"Get out. You—you putrid ball of consciousness. You ectoplasmic fiend, you don't belong here!" Jack started forward.

Danny scrambled back, hurrying to get away from his dad and the furious despair in his eyes. He slipped out of his chair, crashed to the floor and scrambled away. His dad had never looked at him like that before. At least, not _Danny_ Danny. Phantom, maybe, but not Fenton.

Danny looked at his reflection in the aluminum garbage can.

Bruised eyes. Bloody nose. Split lip.

Fenton.

"Dad, what are you—"

"I'm not your father, you're not my son! Get out! I won't say it again!" Jack tossed the nine-tails aside and levered and bazooka at Danny. He pulled back the bolt, auto-loading a cartridge, and shoved the gun in Danny's face.

"Dad." Danny sobbed. The tears burned, leaving rivulets through the dirt and grime smeared across his cheeks.

"_Don't_," his dad said.

It was such a loaded word. Pleading and hateful. Desperate and loathing. Danny didn't realize there could be so much emotion in a single word until now.

"Okay," came his quiet reply, just as heavy as Jack's.

He slipped through the wall, tumbling out of the house and onto the front lawn. He didn't know how, or when, but somehow his dad must have learned the truth. Danny Fenton was Danny Phantom, and Jack hated him for it.

Danny supposed he should at least be thankful his dad gave him a chance to leave. He could have strapped Danny down and dissected him right there on the kitchen table.

Hugging himself, Danny drifted down the sidewalk, streetlights popping as he passed.

...

In his hopeful heart of hearts, Danny thought maybe he could just give his parents time. They would see. He was still Danny, he was always Danny. Being Phantom didn't change that. Even if it did, maybe they didn't need him, but Danny needed his home.

He didn't go far, lingering on the rooftop across the street. Every minute he was away it got harder and harder to think straight. All day he stood there, watching.

Sometimes he would see someone in window. It was mostly Jazz. She had a bandage across her nose. They never noticed him. He wasn't sure if he wanted them to.

He just wanted to _go home_. And he tried. He really did. If not to stay, then at least to take a little piece of home with him.

Once everyone was gone for the day, Jazz to school, Maddie and Jack to chase after the Box Ghost, he tried to sneak back inside. He made it to the end of the front path before he felt it. Like a dozen static shocks all at once, sparking up and down his body.

He ignored it.

The shocks grew to a tingling buzz halfway up the path.

Danny pushed through. He needed this. He needed to go home.

He reached the front step and fell to the ground screaming in pain. Electricity coursed through his body, attacking his core. He convulsed on the front step, thrashing and crying as the anti-ecto energy tore through his body.

Danny dug his fingers into the cracks in the concrete and dragged himself back toward the street, whimpering and holding back sobs. It was like the portal all over again. His limbs twitched. He felt singed, jittery, and exhausted.

Curling up on the sidewalk, Danny hugged his knees and cried into his jeans. They had adjusted the shields. Changed them to affect halfas. He couldn't go home. He could never go home.

...

With nowhere else to go, Danny went to Sam's house. Fenton Works was closer to the richer part of Amity Park than the more suburban areas. He didn't make eye contact with anyone, not that it mattered. Everyone he passed skirted far around him, sometimes even skittering into the street to avoid him.

Danny stomped up Sam's front steps and knocked weakly.

The chances of anyone besides Sam answering the door were usually slim. Ida, stuck in her scooter, wasn't as mobile as she used to be. Jeremy spent long hours at work, or brought work home and stayed tucked away in his office for the night. Pamela was usually occupied with her latest social cause.

Sometimes the similarities between Sam and her mom astounded Danny.

But one thing he failed to consider was that today was a school day. He didn't think about stuff like that anymore, so it was easy to forget.

Pamela opened the door. She took one look at Danny and slammed the door shut.

"Please, Mrs. Manson!" Danny called.

"Go away," she said. Her voice trembled.

"I know you don't like me, but please, I have nowhere to go. I got kicked out." He banged his fist on the door.

"If you don't leave right now, I'm going to call the G.I.W."

Dread shot through Danny like lightning. The G.I.W. Pamela knew his secret, too. Did his parents tell Sam's? Who else did they tell?

He turned around and pressed his back to the door. No one would look at him. Actually, some people glanced in his direction, then quickly looked away and hurried down the street. They knew. Everybody knew.

Sliding down to the ground, he slapped the Manson's front door. "Mrs. Manson, please. I just want to talk to Sam."

Pamela yanked the door open.

Danny fell back and stared up at her.

"Stay away from my daughter," Pamela hissed. "If you go anywhere near her today, or any other day, you won't exist tomorrow."

She threw the door closed. Danny phased right through it. Pamela reached for her phone. Sam once told him Pamela had the G.I.W. on speed dial, thanks to company connections.

Danny's vision went black.

...

At the Foley's apartment, Tucker answered the front door.

"Hi, Tuck!" Danny smiled.

"No," Tucker said.

Danny, still smiling, cocked his head. "No?"

"I-I mean..." Tucker back away from the door, his hand going to his pocket. "Why are you here?"

"I don't... know," Danny said. He looked around the front hall. The Foley's decorated modestly. A couple family photos, a coat rack, a simple bench. It was cozy. He liked being at the Foley's. It was homey. His gaze returned to Tucker and he smiled again. "Hi, Tuck!"

Tucker worried his lip.

"It's kind of cold out here, can you let me in?" Danny asked.

Tucker peered over Danny's shoulder and eyed the sunny blue skies. "Um... I don't think I can do that, dude."

Danny frowned and stepped forward, his toes stopping just before the threshold. "Why not? Aren't we friends?"

"Yeah, we were—are, we _are_." Tucker fumbled over his words, rushing to correct himself.

Danny's eyes narrowed. He stepped forward.

"You can't come in," Tucker said, leaning away from Danny. His shoulder's tensed, arms shaking as he backed away. "You can't come in, you can't come in, you can't come in!"

Danny strained. It felt like something was pushing him back, trying to keep him from entering the house. He wouldn't let it. Tucker was his best friend. Tucker was his brother. He was family.

He was home.

Danny wanted to go home.

"Let me in," he said.

Tucker shook his head sharply. "No."

"Let me in."

"No!"

"_Let me in_!" Danny pounded his fists against the invisible wall. "Tucker! _Tucker! Let me in, Tucker! Let. Me. In!"_

A blast of ectoplasm punctuated each word, scorching the walls and floor. Tucker cowered away, jumping at each blast. He wrapped his arms around his head, crouched down to the floor and screamed.

"God damn it, Danny, No! No, no, no! Go away!"

"_TUCKER!_"

Tucker shot forward, pulling something from his pocket, and tackled Danny. They tumbled into the street and something cold and metal snapped around Danny's wrist. He bellowed and clawed at his skin, trying to pry the bracelet off.

It burned, searing his flesh. He tried to stand but the pain was too great. He crumpled to the asphalt, clutching his wrist and shrieking until his throat felt raw. He bit down on the bracelet, trying to tear it apart with his fangs, but all that did was burn his mouth. He started gnawing at his wrist instead.

He wanted this thing off, _now_. How could Tucker do this to him? How could he ever hurt him like this? They were brothers!

"I'm sorry, Danny," Tucker sobbed, kneeled on the edge of the sidewalk. "I didn't want to, I'm sorry."

Danny bared his fangs at Tucker, hissing and spitting. Ectoplasm spewed across the road. He inched forward, nails scraping on the pavement, dragging himself toward Tucker.

Tucker just cried, hiding his face in his arms and begging Danny to go away.

Danny creeped closer and grabbed Tucker by the ankle.

...

Danny was caught in a haze. Everything hurt. His right arm was completely numb, his skin streaked black around the bracelet. In spite of his efforts, he couldn't get it off. He clawed, scratched, and bit at both the bracelet and his own wrist. All that did was make him bleed, ectoplasm slipping down his hand and dripping from his fingers.

His arms hung limp by his sides. A trail of bright green dots marked his path to the outskirts of the city, where the richest of the rich lived. In his other hand, he clutched a pair of broken glasses.

Danny stared at the glasses, then opened his fist and let them fall to the ground. He stomped on them, shattering the lenses. He didn't need them.

Dragging his feet, he turned into a cul de sac and paused. Vlad Master's house lay at the very end.

Vlad would understand. Danny knew he would. In spite of all their rivalry, their petty battles and personal wars, they were the only two people in the world who could understand each other. He would know what to do. He had to.

Danny flickered out of sight, reappearing in the middle of Vlad's foyer. Maybe Vlad wouldn't notice all the ectoplasm Danny was dripping on the carpet. It matched the Packer's paraphernalia, for the most part.

"Vlaaad," Danny moaned, the name slurred on his tongue. He dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead into the carpet. It felt nice and soft.

He wasn't sure how long waited. A few minutes, an hour, maybe more. But eventually he heard Vlad's voice called from the stairs. "Little Badger."

Danny lay on his side. Titling his head back, he looked up at Vlad.

He looked terrible. There were bags under his eyes, stray hairs slipped out of his ponytail. His tie hung loose, and his collar was crinkled.

"You look like shit." Danny laughed.

"I'm sorry."

"I said you look like shit."

"No, Daniel." Vlad walked down the stairs and stopped at the bottom. He folded his hands in front of him and nervously twiddled his thumbs. "I'm sorry. This never should have happened to you."

"You can help me," Danny said.

"You know I can't, I'm sorry. All this time, I never thought..." Vlad trailed off, shaking his head.

"What are you doing?" Danny asked. He pushed himself up, cradling his weak arm against his chest.

Vlad sat down on the last step and buried his head in his hands. "I'm sorry."

"Stop saying that."

"I should have seen."

"Stop it!" Danny lurched to his feet and stumbled toward Vlad.

"You should have fought back."

Danny froze. "What?"

Vlad peeked over his hands. His weary eyes refused to settle on Danny. "You could have stopped it."

"What did you do?" Danny asked. It suddenly dawned on him why all this was happening—even if he could barely remember what _this_ was. It was Vlad. It was always Vlad; but, somehow, he hadn't thought of it until now. Vlad broke their pact. Vlad told his parents about Danny being a halfa. Vlad told everyone.

Vlad ruined his life.

"I can't go home because of you!"

"Daniel, no, you don't under—"

Danny threw himself at Vlad. Grabbing him around the neck, he throttled the man, shaking him back and forth with burning hands, and screaming in his face.

Vlad shoved him off but didn't transform.

With a feral snarl, Danny attacked again. He pushed Vlad into the stairs, kneeled on top of him, and leaned down on his throat.

"You! Ruined! My! Liiiiiiiii—" He broke off into a wail.

Vlad pressed his hands against Danny's face, forcing his head to turn. The ghostly moan destroyed the adjacent wall and shook the very foundations of the house. All around them, the building started falling apart as Danny pushed all his pain and anguish into his voice.

Things were never supposed to end up this way. But now, it was too late.

…

A fork of lightning split the sky. Thunder cracked, its deafening boom rolling over Amity Park. With it came Danny. He soared through the storm, his tears lost to the rain. The wind howled with him. He was lost and alone and had nowhere to go. So he went to the place where all ghosts without a home end up.

Huddled against the rain, Danny touched down just outside the Amity Park cemetery. He hadn't been here for a while. Sometimes, he visited the new spirits and helped them on their way to the Ghost Zone. But lately just the thought of the cemetery sent a shiver down his spine. A foreboding chill that made him turn around and head back the way he came.

But not tonight.

Danny passed through the gate, the chain and padlock jingling as he walked through them, and stalked up the walkway. His bare feet slipped on the pebbles. He was still dirty.

Even with all the rain, he could feel the grime coating his skin. His mouth tasted like mud, gritty and bitter. When he bites down, gravel grinds between his teeth. His fangs slid in and out and he jutted his bottom jaw forward so his teeth didn't clash so much.

He didn't know where he was going. On nights like this, even spirits liked to stay inside if they could. The moaning wind sounded lonely to dead ears.

Squinting into the rain, he saw someone. He thought it was a ghost at first, pale and white, but when he got closer he realized it was Dash, in a t-shirt and jeans, hunched over a freshly dug plot.

A few small patches of grass sprung up from the dirt, so it the grave wasn't that new. That didn't matter to Danny. The sight of any new graves made him said.

Danny stopped behind Dash's shoulder.

"You'll get sick out here," he croaked.

Dash flinched and turned. "You're here."

"That's what you said before," Danny muttered. It felt weird to talk to Dash like this. Neither of them were mad. Dash didn't call him names or spit insults, and Danny didn't feel the usually petty fury. He just felt lonely.

"What?"

"At school the other day," Danny clarified.

"That wasn't… it's been…" Dash looked away. "You stopped coming to school."

"Oh." Danny didn't notice. Actually, now that he thought about, he didn't even know what day it was. It kept slipping his mind, like so many things. He plucked at the collar of his shirt. Guess it was finally getting that wash it needed.

"I'm sorry."

"Do you want to know what happened to the last person who said that to me?" Danny asked.

"Mrs. Manson…"

Danny furrowed his brow. "What about her?"

"She's in the hospital, isn't she?"

"I don't know." Danny shrugged. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Sam's mom. Although he wanted to talk to Sam. He should do that soon. School should be out right now, if Dash is here—and it's probably nearly midnight.

"I'm still sorry," Dash said. He curled his fingers in the grass and ducked his head. The rain plastered his hair to his forehead. "About Dale."

Danny's confusion mounted.

"We—Kwan and I—we always said he might go too far one day. He's a rough guy, you know? I tried to get him to stop, but he doesn't really listen to anyone."

Suddenly, Danny wanted Dash to stop talking. He wanted Dash to shut up and go away and never come back.

"I don't think, I mean, he didn't mean to hit you that hard. He didn't see the rock. It was an accident." Dash ripped the grass from the ground. "But he shouldn't have tried to hide you like that."

Danny stared down at his dirty bare feet. He felt the stiffness in his jeans and saw the mud on his clothes. For a second, he wasn't standing here with Dash. He was lying on his back, staring up at the stars through the trees as someone yanked him forward in fits and starts.

A bitter taste coated his tongue. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes. It felt like someone struck a match inside his lungs, burning brighter and stronger as he slowly ran out of air, scratching frantically at planks of wood, tearing his nails ragged, unable to escape.

"Did you know," Danny said as his surroundings returned to him, "that Rowan wood has a lot of Apotropaic properties? Sam taught me that."

He ran his thumb over his fingertips, feeling the splinters beneath his nails.

"It's related to magic. It means it wards away evil influences, like ghosts. Ghosts can't pass through Rowan wood. Ectoplasm doesn't burn it. My parents have never been able to figure out the science behind it." Danny's arms went limp. "I don't think there's any science at all."

"You could have fought back," Dash whispered.

Danny stepped forward and read the gravestone. _Danny Fenton. Son, Brother, Hero_.

"I could have fought back," he said.

...

Jazz stared outside at the first snowfall of the season. It had been a hard fall. Losing Danny, and then getting him back, only to lose him again. She wasn't sure who took it worse. Maybe Pamela, since she was the one who ended up in critical care.

Tucker got off lucky, from what Jazz could tell.

She hadn't seen Danny for a while, almost a full month. The last thing she heard of him was from Dash Baxter of all people. Following the last thunderstorm of the season, Dash came stumbling up to Fenton Work's door and only said four words before hobbling away.

"I think he's okay."

Jazz hoped it was true.

Parked in front of the house, her parents were loading boxes onto the RV. They held all of Danny's things. Some of it would be donated, like his clothes and books. Other, more personal things, such as old toys and his favourite models, would go away into storage. They couldn't bear to part with those, even if they couldn't keep them in the house.

Jazz had slipped the Opportunity model out of the box and placed it in her room. It was always Danny's favourite.

It was her dad's fault they were only taking care of this stuff now, despite having it packed away for months, not that anyone could blame him. It hurt them all to clear out Danny's room. Packing it only took a few days, but actually taking the boxes out of the house?

That was permanent. That meant he was really gone.

It felt more appropriate now with him at rest.

She turned away from the window and headed upstairs. There was only one more box left, full of his old school stuff if she remembered right. She pushed open his door and paused for a solemn moment. She only let her grief overwhelm her for a few seconds. It was the only way she knew how to cope.

If she gave herself anymore time, she might just breakdown and cry, and she couldn't afford that. She closed her eyes, took a deep, shaky breath, then went and grabbed the box.

Jazz was just about to close the door when she heard a thunk behind her.

Her grip on the doorknob tightened. Slowly, she turned her heard.

There, in the middle of the room, was Danny. He sat cross-legged, curling the toes of his bare feet. His hair was wispy, like fire, and streaked black and white. The blood and mud was gone, but there were still bruises around his eyes. His skin was pale blue.

Danny raised his right arm, then dropped it. The thick bracelet covering his wrist thunked against the floor. Up to his elbow, the skin was black and cracked. He raised his arm again. Dropped it. _Thunk_.

_Thunk._

_Thunk._

_Thunk._

He paused, holding his arm before him, and looked up. He stared at Jazz with pure green eyes and blue pupils the size of a pinprick. His arm started flaking, the black skinning falling away.

Before her eyes, the limb shifting, twisting grotesquely, the flesh peeling away from the bracelet, letting it sink through before joining back up with the skin of his wrist. The bracelet dropped to the floor. _Thunk_.

Danny smiled and bared his fangs.

"Hey, Jazz," he crooned. "Were you in my room?"


End file.
